UPPIEDUM

UPPIEDUM (pronounced up p dum)

my life as a yo-yo

First let me explain the uppiedum word and I’ll make it as brief as possible.

My dad’s mother refused to speak English. Was she able? Yes, in her own broken way. She preferred her Polish language. On occasion, she’d come up with words you didn’t think she should have known. (For instance, when she’d curse at her grandchildren for dirtying the hallway she so carefully just washed). As she’d walk up and down the stairs, you could hear her mumble, “Uppiedum, uppiedum! Never stops. Damn kids! Always running uppiedum.” (I should mention that she owned the three-family building where we lived.)

All that said, even though my father’s mother and I were never close, I often am reminded of her “uppiedum” word.

There is a restaurant a few miles from where I live and every now and then, my friends will want to enjoy a “girls’ lunch”. While the facility has an elevator which will take us up to the second floor where the dining area is located, we always opt to walk the one flight of stairs so we can continue to chat. As soon as my feet hit the first step, I think “uppiedum. here we go again”.

I always, and I truly mean always when I stand on my home scale and look at my weight, my dad’s mother’s word races to the forefront of my mind: UPPIEDUM!

Due to thyroid disease, my gland was completely removed in 1979. I’ve been battling my weight ever since. Up, down, up, down, and all over again. Uppiedum.

For the first ten years after the surgery, I felt like a beached whale! Finally, due to a job that kept me walking for almost eight hours a day, some of the weight began to slip away. I went from 170 pounds to 150. True, it was only twenty pounds, but I felt the difference.

The weight stayed off for the next ten years and slowly crept back on to my 5’3” body.

Maybe I should have used my scale on a more regular basis, but I didn’t. Shame on me! Someone told me once that weighing myself habitually wasn’t healthy.

Okay, so went from a size 12 to a 14. The 14s were a tiny bit loose and that was fine. If they’d made odd sizes like 13s, they might have worked.

While being in a size 14, I hardly noticed my clothes getting a little tighter. No, let’s be honest. There weren’t a “little” tighter. I felt like I’d been packed in an already tightly packed can of sardines.

One day, my favorite jeans didn’t fit anymore. Getting ready for a shower, I dared to look at myself in the bathroom mirror. Talk about the American Horror Show!! I looked like Mrs. Michelin Tire Man. I had skin bulges where I never knew skin bulges could grow.

I pulled out and dusted off my scale. After putting fresh batteries in the slot on the bottom, I stood on that dreaded device. OMG!!!!! No wonder my clothes felt tight. I was pushing 190 pounds. Where the heck did they find me and now, how was I going to get rid of them? I was now forced to wear a size 16. I was not happy at all!

Diet city, here I come!!

I began watching and noting every crumb of food I put in my mouth. While I enjoy Cola, I opted for more water. I started drinking my tea without the milk and sugar I so thoroughly enjoyed. Hey! There’s nothing wrong with plain black tea. Actually, it’s quite delicious. I walked three miles a day (until I tore the meniscus in my knee and had to stop).

Slowly, and I mean VERY SLOWLY some of the weight began dropping. Standing on the scale, I was now down to 180. Okay, that’s a good sign.

My goal was to reach 150. If I could get my weight down to that, I’d be happy.

I never believed in those so-called “healthy weight” charts. For a 76-year-old woman who is only 5’3” tall, weighing 120 pounds isn’t natural. At least, I don’t think it is.

I looked at the number in the little window. 186! How the heck did I gain SIX pounds? I checked the food log I’d been keeping. Nothing usual popped up. I scanned across the page to where I kept the exercise log. I didn’t skip a day. If the weather wasn’t good for outdoor activities, I worked out with my Wii. Yes, I have one. My husband bought it for me years ago so I could exercise if the weather was not cooperating with my routine.

There was an asterisk next to one of my exercise lines. I scrolled to the notation at the lower part of the page. *No normal exercise routine. Went fishing instead. Fishing outing was five hours of which 4-1/2 was standing on the boat. Drank four bottles of water to stay hydrated. And there was the culprit! The water.

People will tell you that you can’t gain weight by drinking water. Put four bottles of water on a scale and say that with a straight face.

While the weather was hot, I didn’t sweat out as much as I drank in, nor did it come out by any other means (if you know what I mean).

I went back to my normal routine, but it still took one full week to lose those extra six pounds.

Back down to 180, I hoped I could lose a few more. It took another month, but two more pounds came off. Yea! I’m on a roll. My clothes were still a bit snug but not as tight as they had been. My confidence is back up.

Even though distance walking was still hurting my knees, I joined a gym.

One of my friends told me about a program sponsored by our local Y. “I know how much you enjoy dancing,” she began. “This program is all dance! The instructor teaches salsa, cha cha, rumba, tango, and all other kinds of dancing but in line dance format. Try it out.” I did and fell in love with the session. The next class was two days later. I attended that one as well. From there, I never looked back. Since walking was difficult, I’d dance! I find it easier on my feet and knees, plus our instructor makes sure we work up a healthy sweat.

I noticed a difference in my body. While I was now down to 175 pounds, my clothes were loser. Much loser.

During the course of the following year, I found myself back wearing a size 14. Although that drop in weight felt good, unfortunately, I still felt like Mrs. Michelin Tire Man.

It took another year of uppiedum, but I finally stood on the dreaded scale and saw that hideous numbers in that little window read 160. I began to feel better about myself, but I was still wearing a size 14. A few of my clothes were a wee bit loose but others were not.

My dance classes are Wednesdays and Fridays. (Thanks to hurricane Ian blowing our building into complete disrepair, the only available place for our dance is a very small room in the local Y). The city announced it will be tearing down our former building.) The small room at the Y can only accommodate our classes twice a week. That said, I joined the Zumba class. We meet three times a week. (Same Y, same small room, different days.)

One and a half years later, I stood on the scale, and it read 150. I reached my goal. I’m also back wearing a size 12. And yet …..

I stood on the scale this morning and it read 153. Aw, come on! Three pounds? Can’t you go find someone else to badger? It’s a bloody good thing I had Zumba this morning, only it left me very thirsty. Rather than water, I’ll opt for a cup of black tea. It’s more filling than a bottle of water.

Maybe with a bit of luck, in the next few days, I’ll be back down to 150.

Although, I can see my life as a human yo-yo continuing until the day I die!

Uppiedum! Uppiedum!